


A Matter of Pride

by SpicedGold



Series: A Matter Of Pride [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Fluff, M/M, These kids are adorable, maybe humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: Some things Shisui is proud of. Some things he is . . . less proud of. Confessing his feelings to his cousin, well, he doesn't know where that ranks on the list.





	A Matter of Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Just some nonsensical fluff I felt like writing to cheer myself up. Could be considered humour, but mostly just cute fluffiness. Enjoy.

There were a lot of things Shisui was not proud of.

He wasn’t proud of the day he hid behind a door to scare Hana in the Academy, only to end up with a bloody nose and a black eye.

He wasn’t proud of the time he managed to trip and fall flat on his face when attempting to bow to the Hokage.

He wasn’t proud of the kunai he threw that somehow missed its mark and very nearly took a finger off his team mate. The finger had been reattached, but it still bothered Shisui.

And he definitely wasn’t proud of the fact that he was openly, unequivocally, ogling his cousin.

He knew other people could see it. Blind Martians could see it. In fact, the only person who apparently hadn’t noticed was the cousin in question, smiling in a well-rehearsed manner and engaging in polite, if tedious, small talk with the myriad of people who seemed to want to speak to him.

And who could blame them – he looked stunning. Shisui couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Itachi put effort into anything other than training, but apparently Mikoto had made good on her threat to have her boys – all _three_ of them, she’d snapped, ignoring Fugaku’s mildly horrified expression – look as though they hadn’t stopped in at the festival on the way back from a yearlong mission in the Land of No Showering.

By god, she had achieved her goal. Shisui was almost drooling. Itachi’s yukata was black silk, it fell around his shoulders like water, and the belt was a deep maroon, looking equally glossy. Shisui’s eyes were currently glued to his cousin’s back; Itachi facing away from him as he spoke, and he noticed the black material crease slightly as Itachi’s arm moved. It had not gone unnoticed that this yukata failed to have the ever present red and white fan on it, and Shisui wondered how Fugaku had let Itachi out of the house so unbranded.

He didn’t wonder for long, because Itachi moved his arm to brush hair from his face to behind his ear – he did that when he was nervous, Shisui knew – and Shisui finally realized that the usually sloppy ponytail had been traded in for a tight braid. That had to be Mikoto’s doing, and Shisui was going to send her a basket of muffins in thanks.

This festival was officially his favourite place on earth. He couldn’t even remember why he was there in the first place, but it was apparently to embarrass himself by staring at his cousin with his eyes wide and his jaw slack for the foreseeable future.

“Shisui,” Hana interrupted his self-deprecation, waving a hand in front of his face. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

“I might,” he said, not moving his eyes.

Hana huffed. “We have one night off duty and you’re going to waste it by standing still? There’s so much to see, look around you!” She waved her arms theatrically.

“I am looking,” Shisui said. “I’ll never stop looking.” Hell, did Itachi even know he was short circuiting Shisui’s brain with his mere existence?

Hana finally noticed what Shisui was oh so distracted by. “Really, Shisui? What’s your plan when he looks over here and sees you drooling like a rabid dog?”

“Applause. My plan is applause.”

“Get your mind off him,” Hana said, rather irritably as she had borne the brunt of Shisui’s doomed infatuation for the last few months. “You know it will never go anywhere.”

“I’m content to look.” That was a lie, but looking would do for now. Except, now that the thought was in his mind, he wanted to know what that yukata felt like. How would it pool on the floor if it were to be pushed off Itachi’s shoulders? Would that braid crinkle his normally straight hair when it was undone? Would anyone notice if Shisui passed out there and then from the mere idea of all that?

Hana muttered something and left, clearly not willing to spend her free evening trying to engage in conversation with Shisui’s fried brain.

“Hi, Shisui.” A small voice caught his attention, and he finally looked away from Itachi. The world seemed a little dimmer than he remembered. Sasuke stood at his side, looking up at him with a slightly imploring expression. “Can we go and get some sweets? Itachi’s busy talking to everyone.”

Shisui had noticed that fact. He was reluctant to leave though. Itachi probably needed supervision. From afar. “Does it have to be now?”

“You’ve been standing here for _hours_ ,” Sasuke sounded exasperated.

“I have not.”

“Seems like hours,” Sasuke shot back. “It’s weird. I’ve never seen you stay so still for so long.”

“I was thinking.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, as though he doubted Shisui was capable of it, the patented Uchiha deadpan on his face.

“Fine,” Shisui sighed. “We’ll go get some sweets.”

Sasuke’s face lit up. “Yay! I’ve been waiting for ages. Father doesn’t usually let me have sweets.”

 _Probably because kids get raging sugar highs and no one wants to deal with that_ , Shisui thought, but kept the notion to himself. He glanced back at Itachi one more time, almost melting as the young prodigy replied to some comment with a casual shrug of his shoulders, which made the silky black yukata ripple around him slightly.

Shisui was fairly certain he needed psychological intervention.

 

Once Sasuke had been filled full of sweets, Shisui deposited him in the general vicinity of his father so the child could expel his sugar high in Fugaku’s presence, and then he had found Hana again, and the two of them had looked at a few stalls, bought a few things, and Hana had been subjected to Shisui’s hopeless ramblings about Itachi.

When she tired of hearing Shisui’s never-to-be-realised romantic exploits, she left him gazing wistfully into space and instead disappeared to ‘Have some fun without you whining next to me all night’.

Shisui realised, after a few hours, that the object of his erroneous affection was missing. He spent a few moments wandering the festival aimlessly, hoping Itachi would just pop up out of nowhere, before his brain began functioning, and reminded him that Itachi hated social gatherings like this, and had most likely slipped away for some peace and quiet.

The Anbu-trained young genius would undoubtedly seek out a place where he could watch the festival, no doubt still on edge about being ‘off duty’. Feeling inspired, Shisui glanced around, mentally calculating which building was the tallest and would offer the most unhindered view.

Sure enough, when he flickered his way onto the selected building, Itachi was standing there, completely still and looking like a particularly appealing statue, eyes cast down on the activity below.

“Hey,” Shisui said gently, edging a bit closer.

Itachi glanced at him, but said nothing.

“You look . . . nice,” Shisui said, because saying what he actually thought was probably illegal.

Itachi looked self-conscious, glancing down at himself slightly uneasily. He was not good at being off duty, and being unarmed was probably making him nervous. Shisui had guessed correctly, because in the next moment Itachi let out a pent-up breath and admitted softly, “I wanted to bring my sword. Mother said not to.”

“You are off duty,” Shisui reminded him. “Try to relax.”

Itachi was hard-wired to never, ever relax. He sent Shisui a perplexed look. “It’s hard to relax when I know who is and who isn’t on duty. We are not well protected right now.”

“And there’s no reason to worry. It’s peaceful times.”

Itachi’s hand went to his hair again, a clear indicator of his discomfort, and Shisui wanted to touch as well, and see if it really was a soft and well brushed as it looked. Shisui’s hair always looked like he’d been dragged backwards through a bush, but Itachi’s was stunning. Shisui had no idea how he managed to keep it so neat all the time.

“ _Would you calm down?_ ” It wasn’t an overly gruff command, but Itachi jumped nevertheless. Shisui felt a bit bad for snapping. It wasn’t Itachi’s fault he was always on edge and honed for battle. He wanted to pat him reassuringly on the back and tell him it was okay.

But, that would never work.

Itachi was not a physical person by nature. He didn’t like contact. Hugs made him uncomfortable, a hand on the shoulder set him on edge and anything else was just out of the question. Which Shisui was finding immeasurably annoying at this moment in time, because Itachi’s hair fidgeting made the silken ebony sleeve slide down his arm to reveal a pale, perfectly toned forearm, and Shisui wanted to throw him to the ground and have a look at the rest of him.

It wasn’t fair. When they were training, and on missions, Shisui’s focus was divided between what he was doing and appreciating the sight that was Uchiha Itachi, but now that there was nothing between them – no tension, no danger, no goals – Itachi was overwhelming.

 Yes, Shisui acknowledged that he desperately needed help. He should probably be locked away in some asylum.

“Are you alright?” Itachi asked mildly, only half paying attention to Shisui’s wide-eyed staring, the rest of his attention on the activity below. “You’ve seemed a bit on edge today.”

“Me?” Shisui sounded incredulous. “You’re the one freaking out over not having a _sword_ at a _celebration_.”

Itachi looked contrite.

“And I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.” _Except I have a massive debilitating crush on you, which you will never, in a million years, return._

Itachi cast a doubtful look at his cousin, brow furrowed in worry and something else, and Shisui sighed.

“Look, I’m fine, really. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“I am worried,” Itachi admitted, eyes darting away. He bit his lower lip, and Shisui’s brain nearly exploded. “I was worried about coming here, because I knew I wouldn’t have anything to keep me focused.”

“What?” Itachi was not usually cryptic, he preferred to be frank and allow for no misinterpretations of his words. But Shisui was flummoxed. “Focus on . . . what?”

“Something,” Itachi looked at the floor, one hand going back to his hair – nervous, Shisui recognised – and continuing softly, “Other than you.”

“Uh . . .” Shisui was not good at articulating thoughts when he was dazed and confused, and that was an understatement. “Wha?”

Itachi made a clear noise of frustration, obviously finding Shisui’s inability to comprehend him annoying at best, probably infuriating, and he took several deep breaths. Shisui could practically see him arranging his thoughts, selecting them in order, positioning them into an easy to understand paragraph before he would spew them all – no confusion, no misunderstandings, no mystery.

So Shisui waited patiently, while Itachi sorted his thoughts coherently. He didn’t mind the silence, not when he could stare at Itachi’s fingers winding almost compulsively through his hair while he mulled.

“Shisui.”

He nearly jumped at the sound of Itachi’s voice, having zoned out a few minutes ago. But he spoke in a quiet tone of voice, hoping not to startle Itachi into avoiding whatever was making him so nervous. “Yeah?”

“I dislike being off duty at the festival, because it means I have no duties to distract me from what I want to focus on. And that which I want to focus on is you.” He sounded outrageously calm, like he was reciting an impassive essay, every annoyingly calm word well-rehearsed and devoid of personality.

Shisui’s heart started beating faster.

“I find that the time we spend together makes me feel rather pleasant, and I feel as though I wish to pursue that further. I was concerned about voicing this because I know we are related, and also both male, but I had decided that-“

“Fuck,” Shisui croaked, cutting off Itachi’s apparent dissertation, because was Itachi saying he enjoyed spending time with Shisui – more than the usual amount of enjoyment he got spending time with other people?

Itachi looked a bit anxious about the interruption. He hesitated, waiting to see if Shisui would object further. When all Shisui did was swallow hard, Itachi continued with a bit more caution. “I decided that, while there is a risk involved in divulging this, it would also be better to let you know of these thoughts, so that the issue could be laid to rest, if you so wish, and I could move onto other things after your disapproval.”

“What fucking disapproval?”

“Shisui, language.”

“That is the most convoluted, asinine way I’ve ever heard to tell someone you’re attracted to them, you freaky, insane genius.”

Itachi’s expression turned rather suspicious, although he let the insult go. This was clearly not the way he was expecting this to go. “So,” he said slowly, “If you do not disapprove-“

“I’m going to kiss you now. You’ll have to kill me to stop me.” Shisui’s rapid heartbeat apparently raised his bravado and significantly lowered his IQ, but he didn’t even wait for Itachi to process and react to his statement. Itachi tried to, taking the half a second he had while Shisui moved to mull over his words, and his mouth was already half open in order to articulate something – Shisui hoped it wasn’t a protest, because he wasn’t paying attention _at all_ if it was.

He clamped both hands onto Itachi’s shoulders – damn, that yukata was so soft and felt like a river over the muscles of Itachi’s shoulders that had suddenly snapped rigid at the contact – and pressed his mouth to the younger boy’s, eyes closing because _yes, this, finally_ was what he had been yearning for. It was only when Itachi made some sort of squeak – and Shisui didn’t know how much time had passed. It might have been a second. It might have been a minute – that he pulled back slightly, and _god damn_ , Itachi’s dark eyes were blown wide, absolutely shining.

 _I’m not dead_ , Shisui thought vaguely, with the small part of his brain that hadn’t melted into a puddle and leaked out his ears. He was so amazed at that observation that he voiced it aloud.

Itachi just stared at him, with lips slightly parted, and Shisui was certain he could see the wheels in Itachi’s head whirling, completely lost and out of sync, and struggling to catch up to the conversation.

“So,” Shisui said, licking his lips, and staring at the enormous dark eyes in front of him. “What was the alternate ending to your speech if I said I wholly, one hundred percent, no questions asked, approve?”

“I had not contemplated that course of action,” Itachi stammered out, still absolutely frozen.

“I’ve got time, if you want to contemplate it.” _So, so much time. As much time as you want_. He moved his fingers slightly, feeling the silk crinkle beneath them, the fabric so soft against the hardness of Itachi’s body.

The movement seemed to remind Itachi that Shisui was touching him, his eyes flicked down to the hands holding his shoulders. “I . . .”

Shisui wanted to swoon, because he had never, ever heard Itachi lost for words. It was an impossible scenario. This might be his favourite festival ever. While Itachi stared at him, uncomprehending and so lost at sea, Shisui stared at the black fabric over his shoulders, fingers still gripping into it, and yes, it looked amazing on him. Mikoto would get flowers with her muffin basket.

“I seem to find this enjoyable.” Itachi finally managed a sentence.

“I’ll bet you do.” Shisui couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. He leaned in again, because he was so tired of waiting for this, and he couldn’t really do anything else at this point but kiss Itachi, because his brain had ceased to contain any other command. Itachi was still tense - they had time to work out that little kink - but Shisui had forgotten the fact that he was a freakishly fast learner, and he felt Itachi’s hands gripping at his arms, the younger boy pushing forward and trying to take some semblance of control.

“Oh, no no no,” Shisui said, drawing back. “ _No_ , you are not going to try take charge here. You can back off, I’ve been waiting for this for _months_ , and I never dreamed you would be the one to initiate it, so in my mind, I’m in control.”

“I’m not sure I approve of that,” Itachi frowned. “I’m a better leader than you are.”

“I’m older than you. I know how to do these things better.”

Itachi fixed him with the driest look he had ever seen from him. “I was under the impression you had as much experience with ‘these things’ as I did.”

“It’s a matter of pride,” Shisui said, and he finally got his hand into Itachi’s hair. It was as soft as he imagined. He combed through the long strands gently, letting his thumb brush against Itachi’s face as he did. Itachi was still tense beneath the contact, but he wasn’t pulling away, and Shisui cheered internally. “There are a lot of things I’m not proud of, but being in control is one of the things I am.”

“Where, exactly, does kissing me rank on your list of things you are not proud of?” Itachi enquired.

“The very, very bottom,” Shisui whispered, leaning in close. He watched Itachi’s eyes flick once to the left, then they fixed back on his eyes, dark and clear. “It’s nowhere _near_ the list.”

Itachi held his gaze, but his eyes flickered uncertainly, unsure of the closeness, of how to process the situation. Shisui saw a brief flash of red, and supposed he shouldn’t push for too much too soon. So he drew back, with the smuggest, most self-satisfied smirk ever when Itachi almost leaned forward to reconnect them.

“Want to go back to the festival?” Shisui asked. “It’s not over for hours still, your family will be there for ages-“

Shisui was cut off by the most beautiful, enticing sentence he had ever heard in his relatively short life. “Want to go back to my room with me?”

And that was the last straw, and his brain finally burst in a frightening volcano of emotions, half of which settled in his chest and the other half settled somewhat lower down. He stared, taking in the anxious, but excited, look in Itachi’s eyes, the way his lip clenched between his teeth as he waited for an answer, and the way the yukata rippled when he took a deep breath.

It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

“Oh, god, _yes_.”

 

“What’s this?” Mikoto frowned, entering the kitchen to find a basket of muffins and several bouquets of flowers.

Itachi and Sasuke looked up from breakfast; Sasuke continuing to munch happily while Itachi paused, eyebrows raised, as his mother considered the mysterious objects.

“They were here when we got up.” He spoke casually.

“How odd.” There was a card embedded in the stack of muffins. Mikoto extracted it curiously.

_Thanks for the best festival ever. PLEASE do it again next year._

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Sasuke said, eyes on his food, which led to him missing the rolled eyes from his mother and the suddenly suspicious look on his father’s face as he entered the kitchen and caught the tail end of the conversation.

“What's this about?” Fugaku asked, eying the muffins as though they might attack without warning.

“I have no idea,” Mikoto said. “But whoever it is, what a sweet gesture.”

Sasuke snagged a muffin, munching through it happily, still unaware of the look he was getting from his father, as though his insides might detonate with every bite.

“Do you know anything about this, Itachi? Did you see anyone suspicious at the festival?” Fugaku asked, looking the note over and prodding at the basket as one might a bomb.

“No,” Itachi said, turning back to his breakfast. “I came home early.”


End file.
